Under The Willow Root
Chapter 7

“True freedom is impossible without a mind made free by discipline.”--Mortimer J. Adler

“Don’t sleep,” I murmur. “Can’t.”

I’m not so worried about falling asleep. I’m much more concerned about passing out. I’ve never been this badly hurt before, and certainly no one has hurt me like this on purpose. I don’t count Pouter messing up my face. That was about food--hurting me was an added bonus. It was nothing like Cimari’s gleeful pummeling of my unresisting body. The malice behind her attack is almost more disturbing than the physical pain.

Cimari’s face, warped with cruelty, flashes before my eyes. I try to think of something--anything--else. I wonder if this is how Baba Nadia felt when she had her accident. She was probably in much more pain with a broken leg and a broken arm. I can’t imagine how it must have felt, knowing that she would never dance again. I always thought it was that knowledge that killed her in the end. Once she was in the hospital, it was like she didn’t even try to get better.

A tear slips down my cheek and into my split lip, making it sting. I close my eyes. I miss her so much. My grandmother was the only family I ever knew and it never occurred to me that I would need anyone else. But now she’s gone, and I need her more than ever. I sag against the tunnel wall, struggling to breathe. My throat is tight, both from grief and fear for my broken ribs. I can’t cry. I can’t. It will kill me.

“Gori, gori, moya zvezda,

Zvezda lyubvi, privetnaya!

Ty u menya odna zavetnaya,

Drugoy ne budet nikogda...”

Through the stuffy feeling and ringing in my ears, I hear a familiar tune with familiar words. Shine, my star, my cherished one, my only love. The words flood me with both remembered pain and fresh longing for my grandmother.

“Babulya?” I whisper. I look around, blinking against the dark spots dancing before my eyes. “Baba Nadia, help…Baba Nadia?”

“Umru li ya, ty nad mogiloyu,

Gori, siyay, moya zvezda.”

And if I die, my star, shine on over my grave.

“Baba Nadia,” I sigh. I know she’s here with me, though I can’t see her.

“Sasha,” she whispers in my ear. “Chin up, kotik. Keep going.”

I can’t. I shake uncontrollably, pain shooting through my body like knives. It makes me cry, which makes me shake more, which makes the knives dig deeper and twist. It’s a cycle I can’t break, and it’s unbearable. I want it to stop. I want to die.

And why shouldn’t I? How can anyone expect me to keep going when I have no where to go? Maybe the Temple will help, maybe they won’t. But even if they do, what then? I have no one but Sadra in a world that doesn’t even acknowledge me as a real person. It’s just us. Two girls, literally against the world? It’s just...idiotic. It’s too hard, I don’t want to do it. This delusion, this dream, this life, whatever it is--I don’t want it. I want it to end now.

“One step, Sashka,” Baba Nadia says. “Just one, for now.”

“I want to go with you,” I argue weakly.

“Not yet, kitten.”

“Okay...okay. One step.”

I push myself off the cavern wall, biting my lip so hard it bleeds. I need to focus. I move slowly toward the cavern entrance to wait for the sun to rise. Already I can see some people, mostly thralls, moving around in the pre-dawn light. With a jolt, I recognize the group Dove and I always joined heading for the slaves’ baths. It wakes me up a little bit, enough so that I can wonder at the fact that I’m not among them.

Suddenly my lips twitch in a faint smile, and I touch the fiery ball of agony where my brand used to be. I’m not a slave anymore. For the first time, I let myself appreciate this fact. I may be tired and scared and confused and in the worst pain of my life, but I’m also not a slave. I’m not on my way to be groomed like a show-dog. I’m on my way to people who will help me...if I can make it that far. One step, I remind myself. Then another. I have to--I won’t let them take me again. I won’t be a slave again. Ever again. Cimari’s was the last beating I’ll ever take lying down.

I curl my fingers around the stone Sadra gave me and wait until there are enough people around for me to lose myself in the crowd. Finally I slip out of my hiding place, hobbling along as quickly as I’m able toward the Temple. I’ve passed it many times on outings with Ismeni. I know it’s not far, but I can’t help but fear my newfound freedom will be taken away at any moment.

Every glance cast my way feels like an accusation. I feel like everyone knows what I am. Everyone walking away from me looks like they’re off to alert the House of Light and Shadow. I nearly have a heart attack when I see someone talking to a uniformed guard of the City Watch. I put my head down and take a deep breath. I’m almost there. Just keep it together.

When I turn the last corner and see the Temple at the end of the street, it takes everything I have not to break into a run, broken ribs and all. I can’t believe that freedom and safety are right there in front of me. It can’t be real. I’ll reach for the door and someone will grab me. Or I’ll ask for help and they’ll turn me away.

Or, worst of all, they could pretend to help me and then turn me over to the House. The thought makes me slow for a fraction of a second, then I shake it off. Sadra said they’d help us. I trust her. I have to trust her. I ask myself, what’s my alternative? I’m not going to last long wandering around barefoot and injured, barely able to walk.

I climb the Temple steps and pound weakly on the door, trembling all over. I lean against the door for support. When it opens, I stumble inside. A girl of maybe thirteen catches me, looking annoyed. I cry out as her hand hits my injured ribs. I straighten up and shove Sadra’s stone into her hand. I notice for the first time that it’s a polished hunk of amber with a symbol painted on it.

“Sadra sent me,” I gasp. “Please help.”

The girl looks down at the blood on her hands and then at me, her mouth forming a silent “oh.” And then she’s at my side, helping me lower myself to the ground before I fall. She shouts for help, and heads start popping out of doors along the corridor. I’m caught up in a flurry of activity as a chaotic flock of Temple dwellers whisks me away through the labyrinth of corridors and stairwells. I float through it all in a haze of pain, unable to understand what’s going on or who is in charge.

Finally, I’m deposited in a bed and left with only a stately old woman and the girl who let me in. My ribs have been wrapped and the wound on my hip has been bandaged. I’m light-headed with relief--finally, I can rest. But the stately woman has my hand and is gently insisting that I stay awake for a little longer.

“Just for a little bit more,” she says. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” I whisper, licking dry lips.

“Good,” the woman says briskly. “Let us introduce ourselves properly. I am Mother Wenla. This is Alesa, a first-degree initiate. And you are?”

“Sasha,” I say, feeling a rush of pleasure despite everything. “My name is Sasha. Sadra said...you would help.”

“And so we shall,” Mother Wenla says. “What do you require?”

“I...I don’t know,” I say. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I’m too tired to think at all. “Can I stay?”

“My dear child,” Mother Wenla says. “Of course you may stay as long as you need to. I meant, what else? Will you allow a Healer to attend you?”

“Yes,” I tell her. “Please. It hurts.”

“Can you eat?” she asks. “It may help.”

I have to think about that. “No,” I decide. “Too sick.”

“Later, then,” Mother Wenla says with a nod, and gets up. “I’ll leave you to rest. Alesa, perhaps you might practice in here in case Sasha needs anything. Unless that would disturb your rest, my dear?”

“Music,” I grunt. “Please.”

“Alright,” Mother Wenla says. “I’ll send someone along with Alesa’s harp. Sleep well, Sasha. Welcome to Temple.”

“She didn’t even ask...where I came from,” I whisper haltingly. Alesa smiles at me.

“A lot of us came here because we needed help,” Alesa says. “Mother Wenla says it’s not our place to question those in need of sanctuary. If someone needs help, we give it. Mother Wenla says we can’t bring beauty into the world if we don’t carry it in our hearts.”

“Very kind,” I say. “And wise.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“She doesn’t seem so kind when she’s the one overseeing your trials,” Alesa says with a grin. “But she is, really. Where are you from? I like your accent.”

I hesitate, and she rushes to add, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Not our place, and all that.”

I don’t say anything. What could I tell her that wouldn’t put her in danger or make her think I’m crazy, or both?

“If you’re in trouble, you know you can always join the Temple,” Alesa suggests.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You really aren’t from here, are you?” Alesa remarks. “So long as they serve the Temple, initiates are pardoned for whatever crimes they’ve committed--short of rape or murder, anyway.”

“That’s...why Sadra sent me,” I murmur, grimacing. I close my eyes for a moment and concentrate on breathing.

“I should let you sleep,” Alesa says as young boy arrives with her harp. “Sorry. Are you sure you don’t mind me playing?”

“Very sure,” I say. I haven’t been able to really enjoy music in so long.

“Alright, then,” Alesa says. “Close your eyes.”

For once, I’m glad to do as I’m told.

When I wake up, I freeze in panic, wondering where I am, then remember and relax. I’m starving. I also don’t hurt as badly as I did before. I prod my ribs and hip gingerly and find that they seem to be mostly fixed, if a little tender. My head feels better, too. Clearer. The Healer has come and gone, then. I wish I’d been awake when she came. I’ve seen magic--Light--every day for months and months, but this is the first time I’ve benefited from it. I touch my hip again, wondering at the soft, papery scar where a gaping hole used to be. Amazing. I sit up, making the bed creak.

“Sasha?” says a sleepy voice.

“Alesa?” I reply. “Is that you?”

“Mmm,” says the voice. “Alright?”

“Just hungry,” I say.

“Next to the bed,” Alesa yawns. “On the table. There’s some juice and hardbread.”

I feel around carefully and find a cup and a plate of some cracker-like pieces of bread. I gobble it down as quietly as I can, but each bite sounds loud enough to echo in the room. Alesa doesn’t seem to mind. I think she’s fallen asleep again. I lie back and try to do the same. It shouldn’t be hard to fall asleep, but it is.

After a while, I give up and get out of bed. There’s a faint line at the bottom of the door. I move toward it and fumble for the latch. I get it open and push through into a dimly lit hallway. I remember waking up for the first time in Ismeni’s house and smile faintly. This time, I take careful note of each turn I make as I walk quietly through the Temple.

I’m tempted to look into the rooms I pass, but I don’t know if there are people sleeping inside. What I really want is to find a dance studio. I know there has to be one somewhere. I haven’t danced in more than twenty four hours, the longest I’ve gone since my first time in the garden. I need it, like it’s a drug...or medicine.

I’m about to give up and start doing my exercises in the hall when Mother Wenla finds me. She comes around the corner and stops abruptly, her hand on her breast in surprise. I freeze, trying not to look guilty. We stare at each other for a moment and then relax, laughing.

“What are you doing out of bed, child?” she chides. “You should be resting.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I explain. “I need to dance.”

Mother Wenla’s eyebrows shoot up. “Indeed?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “It helps me stay...well, I just need to.”

To my surprise, Mother Wenla smiles widely. “Follow me.”

She leads me away through the halls to a large room with a smooth tile floor. There’s no barre, but I can make do. There’s a shelf of about the right height that can work. I tie my nightgown between my legs in an approximation of the dance skirts Sadra gave me and get to work, forgetting Mother Wenla instantly. I forget my pain, I forget my fear. I forget everything that isn’t the stretch and pull of my muscles.

“That’s beautiful,” Mother Wenla says when I stop for a moment to rest. “But strange. Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“My grandmother,” I say honestly. “Those are just exercises, though. I haven’t truly danced since...since I left home.”

“Would you like to dance now?” Mother Wenla asks, taking a long wooden flute from the shelf.

“Yes,” I say eagerly. “Oh, yes, please.”

Mother Wenla sets the flute to her lips and begins a gentle tune that feels like an allemande. I move into the center of the room and begin to move freely to the music, realizing a dream I’ve held close for more than a year, never believing it would come true. I use the whole room, revelling in the open space.

When the ache in my hip grows too painful for me to continue, I come out of a pirouette and bring my arms down, breathing deeply. I know that if I push harder I could hurt myself, but it feels so good. I want to keep going, though I’ve been dancing for nearly an hour and my limbs are trembling with fatigue.

“Lovely,” she says, lowering the flute.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to go on so long.”

“It was truly a pleasure,” Mother Wenla assures me. “Do you feel better now?”

“Much better,” I say gratefully.

“I’m glad,” Mother Wenla says with a smile. “I think you will do quite well here, Sasha, however long you choose to stay.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling shyly back. “I think so, too.”

“Bayu bayushki bayu

Seedit kotik na kriyu

On ne bedin ne bahat… um..

Oo nyevo..oonye vo..”

Emily stumbles over the words and laughs a little, shaking her head. I’d laugh too, if I could. Her accent is terrible, even after practically living with Baba Nadia and me for over ten years. We always laughed about it, just like we laughed when she helped me learn English so the other pre-schoolers wouldn’t make fun of me. I would give anything to laugh with her again.

“Sorry, bug. How about this one?” Emily says. “You liked it when you were little, remember?

I see the moon, the moon sees me

The moon sees somebody I would like to see

God bless the moon, and God bless me

God bless somebody I would like to see.

God bless somebody I would like to see.”

Emily stops and looks into her lap. I watch curiously as her jaw and throat tighten. She swallows several times and lets out a ragged breath. She looks at the ceiling, at the door, anywhere but me. I keep my eyes fixed on her face, as if I can force her to look at me if I just stare hard enough.

“Sasha, I...I don’t know how to do this. I wish Nadia were here,” Emily whispers. She wipes the tears from her eyes and takes several more breaths before finally looking at me. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Ignore me. Where was I?

Do you believe in lovin’, honey?

Mm, you bet I do.

I believe in lovin’, honey,

When I’m lovin’ you…”

I wake up to the sound of crunching. I crack an eyelid and see Sadra reclining on the bed next to me, munching on my crackers. When she sees that I’m awake, she grins and jumps onto my bed, pushing me over as she wiggles under the covers next to me.

“We did it!” she squeals, laughing.

I laugh too and hug her around the neck. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It is,” Sadra tells me. “Enjoy it. You’re safe, at least for now.”

“What about--”

Sadra shakes her head urgently. “Let’s go get some food. We can take it out to the garden and talk.”

“What time is it?” I ask. I take the last cracker and hold it up accusingly before cramming it into my mouth. “I’m so hungry.”

“Nearly noon,” Sadra tells me. She flicks away a cracker crumb from the corner of my mouth.“I was here yesterday, too, but you were asleep and I couldn’t stay long.”

“Oh,” I say. “Are you--you’re not still at...you know.”

“For now,” Sadra says casually. “Do you like it here so far? Mother Wenla is wonderful, isn’t she?”

“She is,” I agree. I tell her about my midnight dance as we make our way toward the kitchens.

“I wish I could have seen it,” Sadra says. “I’ve never seen you dance--not really.”

“Well, I’m sure you will soon,” I say with a broad smile. “Do you know what I have to do today?”

“What?” Sadra asks curiously.

“Nothing!” I crow, tossing my arms in the air. “Anything. Whatever I want.”

Sadra laughs delightedly. “So what do you want to do?”

“Eat,” I say promptly. “I want to eat as much as I want while you tell me everything and then…”

“And then?” Sadra prompts.

“How long are you staying?” I ask her.

“All day,” she says. “I don’t have to be anywhere until late tonight. We can do whatever you want.”

“Can we go out?” I asked in hushed tones, like I’m in church.

“Oh, we’re not just going to go out,” Sadra says, linking her arm through mine. “We’re going to go to the baths, and we’re going to go shopping, and we’re going to go see some friends of mine perform. We’re going to go to the public gardens and galleries and just....everything. Everything we can think of until we drop. How does that sound?”

“That sounds amazing,” I say as we enter the kitchens. “And that smells amazing. Is that cake for something important? Can I have it?”

“I’ll ask,” Sadra says, giggling, and a cook glances over at us.

“Just out of the healing ward?” she asks, and I nod. “Healing has that effect on people. Here, have some of this, love.”

She hands me a slice of sweet bread topped with something like cream cheese. I polish it off in two bites and almost choke. I’ve never been high, but I feel like I’m high. I’m giddy, bursting with energy, on the verge of screaming or laughing or crying or all three. I feel like I’m not real. Everything looks shiny. I can’t believe I’m not helping Ismeni change into her third outfit of the morning while also polishing her jewelry and planning out my chores for the rest of the day. It’s the most amazing feeling.

“Sasha, this is Myrta,” Sadra says. “Myrta, my cousin, Sasha. She was attacked on her way to see me.”

“I heard,” Myrta says. “Poor child, losing your parents like that. You should have sent word. Someone would have come to fetch you.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” I improvise. Then, truthfully, “Sadra’s all I have.”

“Well, you’ll be safe here until you find your way,” Myrta says, handing me a basket of food. “Go on and enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Myrta,” Sadra says, giving the cook a kiss on the cheek.

“And you come home,” Myrta says. “You can do better than Orean. If you want a Councilor, any other household on the Terrace would be wild to have you. I hear bad things about that man.”

“Soon,” Sadra laughs. “I want to come home, truly. I just need to do it without offending him too much.”

“Why are you with Orean if you had a choice about it?” I ask when we’re outside. “I always thought it was some kind of...assignment.”

“Assignment!” Sadra stares at me in astonishment, choking on a bite of meat pasty. “Sasha, what do you think my job is?”

“Um...well, dancing,” I say, face flaming. “And...other things?”

“‘Other things.’ By which you mean bedding people at the Temple’s behest,” Sadra cries, appalled. “I don’t know if that’s the funniest or the most offensive thing I’ve ever heard. Wherever would you have gotten an idea like that?”

“Well, you don’t like him,” I point out. “Why else would you sleep with someone you think is disgusting and mean? And you have, at least a few times.”

“Because it allows me to live surrounded by luxury on the King’s Terrace and go to parties and do whatever I want with Orean’s coin,” Sadra says with the air of someone pointing out the obvious. “And anyway, being a horrible person doesn’t make him a bad lover. As long as he doesn’t talk.”

“Oh,” I say again, ignoring her salacious eyebrow-wiggle. “That’s very...um...practical.”

“You don’t think that’s a good reason to share someone’s bed,” Sadra observes. “What else is an advantageous marriage, then?”

“Where I come from, people marry for love,” I tell her, then rethink it. “Usually. You really don’t mind sleeping with someone you don’t have feelings for? Does...does everyone think like you? About--that?”

“Mostly,” Sadra says. “And I wouldn’t say I don’t mind it. I wouldn’t want to be his mistress for true, but I get quite a lot in exchange for a few only-slightly-better-than-mediocre tumbles between the sheets. And, anyway, what does does any of that have to do with someone forcing me to do it?”

“Where I come from, women don’t usually...make it an exchange...unless someone is forcing them to, or because they don’t have any other options,” I say stiffly. “It’s considered shameful. Illegal, actually.”

“Really,” Sadra says, leaning forward. “But how--”

“Can we talk about something else? Tell me what you did about Cimari.”

“I will, but first let me assure you that people here also marry--and go to bed--for love.” She winks at me. “I wouldn’t want to put you off the idea. In fact--”

“Sadra.”

“Alright, alright. Here, eat something. Cimari thinks you’re dead.”

“What? How?” I ask around a mouthful of pasty.

“I Whispered it to her,” Sadra says, looking pleased with herself. “She thinks she went too far and beat you to death and then bribed one of Orean’s guards to dispose of the body.”

“Will that work?” I ask dubiously. “What if she tries to talk to the guard about it and he doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

“I did him too. I picked a guard that she’s bribed before, but for something else. There is still a risk of them getting suspicious if they ask each other the wrong questions,” Sadra admits. “But even so, I’m counting on the confusion over the whole thing to cover up what actually happened. They at least won’t have any idea about where or how you’ve gone, even if they realize that you’re not dead. And Cimari is too vain to admit she’s made a mistake--I don’t think we have to worry that she’ll go to the House.”

“So what do we need to worry about?” I ask. “There is something, isn’t there?”

“Ismeni,” Sadra replies. “I didn’t have time to get to her, and it’s too late now to muck about with her dreams. It wouldn’t be strong enough and she could sense that something is amiss.”

“But she knows about Dove,” I say anxiously.

“She doesn’t know anything about you,” Sadra reminds me. “Not for sure. I only worry that she’ll confront Cimari again and ask questions Cimari can’t answer. Ismeni was furious when she found you gone. Shouted at Cimari right in the middle of breakfast, according to the flute player. Cimari told her you died of some kind of taint from Dove’s death. Tona--the flute player--said Cimari came over all prissy about it, too. I can’t think why.”

“When Dove died, she told Ismeni I should be taken to the House of Light and Shadows to be cleansed and Ismeni said no,” I explain. We’re both silent for several moments. Finally, I say, “Well, it’s not perfect, but perfect was probably never an option, was it? I think it’s better than I could ever have hoped for. Thank you so much, Sadra. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be mending Ismeni’s underthings right now, that’s what,” Sadra says with a grin. She holds up a flask of juice. “May you never hold another needle.”

“So might it be,” I say, and toast her with my meat pie.

We finish our meal, talking and laughing loudly, enjoying the fact that we don’t have to worry about being overheard. When we’re done, we return the basket to the kitchen. I head back toward the exit, but Sadra holds me back.

“You can’t go out like that,” she says definitively. “Look, there’s blood all over your front and the hem is filthy. And, well, it’s a nightgown.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down. “But I don’t have anything else.”

“Yes, you do,” Sadra informs me. “I brought a dress of mine and a pair of sandals. They won’t fit, but they’ll do until we can get you your own. First, though, you need the baths. Let’s go get your shawl to cover you up until we get there and afterward we can have a ceremonial burning.”

“I know you’re joking,” I say, “but can we?”

“Probably not,” Sadra laughs. “But we can jam it into the garbage bucket really energetically.”

“Good enough,” I reply, disappointed. I would have loved to burn something representing my life as a slave and scatter the ashes.

“We can spit on it, too,” Sadra offers, putting her arm around my shoulders. “Smile. Today I’m going to shower you with gifts and good food and fun, but I have conditions.”

“And what are those?” I ask, beginning to smile.

“First, you must smile,” Sadra begins. “Very good. Second, no worrying. Thirdly, no bitter memories. And, lastly and most importantly, you have to accept everything I buy for you. Unless you don’t like it, but then you have to pick something else out.”

“I don’t have any money,” I realize belatedly. “Sadra, you can’t--”

“No, no, no,” Sadra says, putting her hand over my mouth. “No arguments. Really, it’s Orean’s money we’re spending. Think of it as the wages you should have been earning.”

My smile grows wider. “Well, when you look at it that way…”

“When you look at it that way, he owes you quite a lot of money.”

We get the shawl from the infirmary and and arrange it as strategically as we can to make it look like I’m not barefoot and wearing a filthy nightdress. Sadra refuses to let me wear her shoes until I’m clean. I take a peek at the bottom of my foot and I have to agree. It’s disgusting.

I wasn’t particularly excited about the baths initially, but I didn’t realize how vastly different the experience would be as a free woman. All the rooms I’m used to are there, but there’s also an outdoor space for exercise where men wrestle and run races and children play a game that looks a little like hopscotch. Sadra and I join a group of women in a shady courtyard for a dance that involves a lot of rhythmic singing and clapping.

As we all troop inside to undress for the baths themselves, Sadra chats easily with everyone and introduces me as her cousin from a distant village. People ask me polite questions and I give polite--if vague--answers. I meet people’s eyes when they talk to me. I smile. I ask questions of my own. In my old life, I never really enjoyed socializing, but now I’m just so thrilled to be able to talk to people that I can’t imagine why I ever avoided it.

There’s one tense moment when we exit the steam room for a massage, but Sadra murmurs in my ear that the people giving the massages are paid professionals, not thralls. I should have known. Thralls are never used for anything that requires skill or artistry.

“Dancer?” inquires the lady rubbing my back. “You’ve the muscles for it. I thought about taking vows--I played the reed-pipe--but then I met my Vanon and never looked back. I love music, but I love my husband and children more.”

“Mmm,” I say noncommittally, wondering what she’s talking about.

Seeing that I’m enjoying the massage too much to make conversation, she chuckles and continues on in silence. I think it might be the best twenty minutes of my life so far. It feels good, of course, but it’s more than that. It’s having someone do something for me rather than the other way around. It feels just--miraculous.

When we leave, I’m dressed in Sadra’s gown and sandals, both of which are a little bit big on me. Our first stop is the hairdresser, where Sadra insists that we need to buy a wig for purposes of both fashion and disguise. She spends an eternity clapping various wigs on my head and snatching them off, trying to find a shade of blonde that looks natural enough to escape casual notice.

Finally, I pass inspection and she hauls me off to buy dresses, shoes, and my own makeup. I protest at this last bit, but Sadra insists, saying that I need to blend in and that means doing everything everyone else does. I agree reluctantly, but secretly I think she’s just having fun spending Orean’s money.

I get another thrill when we stop to eat at a tavern. For the first time since I arrived in this world, I get to choose what I will eat. I ask the serving boy to repeat the options three times, paralyzed by indecision. Sadra doesn’t try to order for me. I think she knows what a big moment it is. When I finally order, I feel both elated and slightly drained. Choosing can be exhausting when you’re out of practice.

My head is spinning by the time Sadra sees me safely back to the Temple and says goodnight. Even so, I make sure I go through my exercises before falling into the bed I’ve been assigned. I smile into my pillow, wondering at how drastically my life has changed in the last two days.

The biggest difference, I think, is that now I look forward to waking up in the morning. Mother Wenla has invited me to observe some classes and see if I might consider joining the Temple. Sadra’s going to visit again for dinner with the other Temple initiates and students. I’m going to wake up in a comfortable bed in my own nightgown and put on clothes I picked out for myself and dance freely for people who will appreciate it.

I think of Emily and Melanie and Tara with a brief stab of guilt, then push it away. Feeling bad won’t get me home any faster. I’ll come up with a plan tomorrow. For now, I want to just enjoy being happy.

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